They Dance
by MorgansGurl
Summary: A sensual dance by an unnamed couple. Who knew that just dancing could be so sexy.


_Disclaimer: Me/He Own not the world of HP. I know, tragic. _

_A/N: This is not my fic! Just gatta get that out there first. I did not write this. This is actually a friend of mines writing, and yes, before you ask, I did get his permission to post it on my fanfiction profile because he doesn't have a fanfiction profile to post on. _

_The Author: It's by Peter Mellona, a friend of mine that lives in the UK. He wrote this in response to some of the happenings on the RPG site that we own. It is a HP fic, and he wasn't sure if it was good or not but I thought it was bloody brilliant. _

_It's about Acila Derfiana/Peter Mellona. I play Acila Derfiana lol. _

_Anyone that wants to get in contact with him, and make sure that I am allowed to post this, please visit (http : / morgansgurl07. proboards102. com / index. Cgi) It's Hogwarts Returns, an RPG site, his profile is Peter Mellona obviously, and you can PM him with reviews or stuff from there. I agreed not to post his email addy on here. _

_I, of course, will be forwarding to him any reviews/critisim this fic receives. I'm trying to get him into the world of fanfiction because I think his writing is fabulous. You should see him Roleplay!. _

_Peter's A/N: Anyway, I might have been busy today but I think you deserve a response from little ol' me to the brilliant fics you have been writing for Peter and Acila. So I got to thinking... what if they __had__ danced..._

* * *

The dancer moves back from his partner, pushing back on hands to stand on graceful feet. The beat of his heart skipping, the flutters in his belly rising, his hair free - wild spirals raining down pale, gleaming shoulders. Long fingers begin to trail along her sides, lightly, teasingly, causing her head to tilt to one side, the ends of dark curls grazing sensitive ears, she breathes in slow, yet steadily, his voice and motion commanding her will, her palms reaching back to encompass his smooth neck, her curvaceous hips begin to undulate seductively, his fingers brush through her hair as her arms reach higher above her head, crossing at the wrists, as if yearning to be bound.

Dark eyes lift towards the sky, her knees weak and bending slightly, she turns away from him, but within his grasp, the curves of her back, the beat of drums in the back ground, gasping as his body snaps hers to the beat, soft but insistent, She gasps, arms drop suddenly as he bends her backwards, fingers glide across her back, the bareness of the skin, his torso swirls in slow entincing circles before her as they move as one across the floor, already lost in the melody.

She turns to changing tempos, as if becoming one with it, surrendering to his expert and tantalising lead, she closes her eyes, her body riding the invisible waves of harmony as if making love to it, the heat of the notes as fire tingling ,embers, volcanic eruptions of rapid heart beat, skipping, quickening, she hears the sound of the orchestra playing, but playing with her soul.

His feet pivot onto the ground, spinning her as he turns to her side, his left hand sliding around her lower back, his right pressed lightly to her lithe stomach, light tan and pale alabaster skins glistening together as the dim light of the smoldering oil lamps flickers about them. Her spine arches before him, his hands reaching out as if to grab her to him, begging and pleading, a graceful wrist rises to trace deliciously puckered lips, grazing them, a sultry gaze lifts, he can read her soul, radiant, alive, as he leads her in the mesmerising dance, giving everything, showing everything.

The flutes, the violins, the beat, the harmony; they become lost, their bodies snake, slow, ravishing, arms wrapping, legs twirling. Loose strands of auburn flirt raining across her neck as he glides full circle around her, as her head rocks backwards, exposing her marble neck. Their will embraced, minds rushing, silently crying out for the dance to never end. Hands up and down her sides, his touch and presence, tingling, envisioning rapture. The nearly whispered word echoes from unsteady voice, breath sporadic, eyes closed, the dance demanding total submission, fingers twirling in, unrestrained pleasure a slave to inner torment and yet more free than the highest soaring eagle.

And the dance goes on...

* * *

_Peter's A/N:_ _(Choosing not to refer to them by name in the fic seemed fitting as they are "lost" in the dance. Lemme know if you think it works like this!)_


End file.
